Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1887-05-05
A Day at Fort Smelling.

! to see us you VIII surely Duy
A Day at Fort Smelling.
A plain little building on long posts, that
barely lifts its roof above the tops of the cars
that five times day arc whrled into the
modest shadow, is the apology for depot
at the Fort. 1t is an humble affair. A de-
cidedly attenuated slgn-cither brown or
sunburnt, sarcs the visitor out Of countc-
nance. If no one is around to assure you,it
might be translatcd-Fort Sneling-though
| it is dangerous assertion u make for fact.
! 1t LOOKS like bunch back on stills and car
ries with 1t about the same air Of dignity
On its sunburnt sides and inner walls, the
knife of the vandal has carved curious shapes
and figures, and it would not be hard for
one curious enough to search, to find the al
phabct craven there. A long modern bench
and rickety stoye constitute the furniture.
The indispensable and ever present piece of
| broom wire, with its pig tail curl around
nal in the wall. supports the tottcring stove
pipe. Any remarks about the protruding
! nail, the cuts and splintcrs IN the bench,
would I've out Of place. This shanty seems
to have been built there for the purpose Of
covering the sentinel, rather than to fill the
important capacity ola railway station.
sentry YOU say? \ sentry indeed. And he
is there at. the incoming and outgoing of cy'
! cry train A sober faced colored soldier
with square shoulders and tapcring waist
On his head shallow cap with glittcring
visor Il closely fitting coat of dark blue or
nate with shining buttons of brass ; we'll cut
pants of light blue with tlaring bottoms pol
lshcd shoes with broad socs ; gloves lll-ht-
ing but white as the neck of a swan; a
heavy rife thrown carelessly over the right
shoulder, stiff and digniticd carriagc-and
you have an exact picture of the sentry, who
seems to have his abode in the little rickely
brown station
1t tires me to look at him walk, walk,
! walk. all the time. Our conclusion is that
! he is struck on perpetual motion, or there is
no room for him elsewhere. But before you
cease to watch and wonder over the sentry,
the spasmodic cough of the engine brings
YOU back to one Of your senses, and
YOU look to see the train whiIlcd out Of sight
around the jagged and towering bluff. But
since we alghted nature seems to have alouS-
ed herself to greet us The air is filled with
| merry bird voices, the early breeze, fresh
with the morning dew, comes down the hills
and whispers tcnderly to the quivcring foil
age The restless river ripplcs and dances
over its shallow bed, and the slender grass
blades bow and bend as though rejoicing
over their release from the shades of night
! To the left the road CIceps along the tower.
ing bluff and finds Its way to the plateau
above. Below the road lies a yawning CROFT
filled with shifting shadows; above, the face
of the bluff towers high and severe, and the
! dry gray road hides itself behind the bulky
base of lofty bastion; n grand old study in
white From Its time-worn sides gloomy
windows look out over the valley below, and
it has the appearance of stiff Old sentinel,
grown gray in the performance Of his duty
As YOU climb the tresomc roadway along
the glazing walls of stone that every minute
seem ready to fall on you for inruding, you
almost expect some warrior in fcndal armor
to thrust his head through window OF the
tower and challenge your right to invade
the realm over which it seems to stand a
a trclcss guard.
On the very edge Of the bluff sits a long
low line of BARRACKS and in many places huge
blocks of unhcwn stone seem ready to fall
from the walls and 90 crashing through the
hedges into the silent ravine below. All
this you notice as you climb. You have
reached the bastion YOU stop beneath its
CHASTITY walls and look up its standing side
to estimate its height; you have just began
to wonder what dark mysteries these silent
stones could unrayel, had they the power Of
speech, when. bark a strange unfamiliar
sound falls upon your ear. You listen ;
clear and sweet the bel.like notes shake the
morning air. and echoes answer fainter and
fainter down the valley. 1t is the bugler
sounding the revcillc, and trembling with
enthusiasm awakened by the inspiring notes,
you run up the steep, and turning the point
where the road iooscs itself behind the bas-
ton you find yourself upon the margin of q
grassy plateau, dotted with thrifty trees,
young and rich with foliage. In the centre
stands the bugler. No other man is visible
he stands alone and from his lips rise and
fall the notes that are as lnsplritlng as the
echoes of the Scottish pibroch among the
Grampian hills You stand and look and
listen and admire, and are only brought
fully back to your senses when the sullcn
boom of a cannon rolls down the plain, fair
ly filling the air with echoes from the lofty
hills. which seem to tremblc at their very
base. Down the valley goes tn. deep voice
of the cannon, bounding from bluff to bluff
till fainter and fainter 1t grows, and is now
oVertakcn by the clear notes of the bugle,
which too find themselves lost in wild
shrek among the many crags. The long
white buildings heretofore so quiet now give
forth signs of life, and from the doorways
step out uniformed figures and the sharp rat
tie of the drum is heard, and marching into
the centre Of the grass plat the straight
backed drummer takes his stand and beats q
loved tattoo. All is llte-and soon a nun.
dred men, each nlmble as a cat, and twicelas
Silent, 60 through the mysteries oftheir reg.
lx,1I